


he gave you his heart (you gave it away)

by whiplash



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse of a quiet moment between Hayley and Elijah in the aftermath of 3x08 (Savior). Please note that it was written and posted well before episode nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he gave you his heart (you gave it away)

**Author's Note:**

> Update: I submit this as the most unintentionally hilarious and accidentally inappropriate thing ever written in this fandom. The title alone... I don't even know what to say. This is what I get for writing het romance.

Hayley finds him putting away Christmas baubles, his back stiff and his face blank as he wraps each delicate trinket in several layers of tissue paper. He doesn’t greet her, not even with a glance, and for a while she just stands there watching him. Then, just as he reaches out to pluck another glass sphere from the tree she intercepts him, brushing her knuckles across his hand as she unhooks the ornament from the branch.

“Here,” she says, offering him first the trinket and then a tenative smile as he finally meets her eyes. It’s just for a short moment before he ducks his head, returning his attention to wrapping each item with undue care, but it’s still long enough to catch a glimpse of his grief. Swallowing a sigh she continues undressing the tree and soon they have wordlessly worked out a system where she hands him the baubles and he tucks them away into the storage box. 

After a while though, she finds herself standing on tip toes without being able to reach the last ones. 

“Did you use a ladder when dressing the tree?” she finally asks in bewilderment, peering up at the top branches. While she’s come to love this family, she has still to come to terms with their constant need for grand gestures. 

“Actually, I used to a catering service,” Elijah answers. He takes a step back to contemplate the tree then drily adds; “But I imagine that they used a ladder, yes.” 

“Wow,” she deadpans. “I feel let down. Here I always imagined you as the hostess with the mostest and now I find out that all along you've been using a catering service.” 

Elijah doesn’t answer, his eyes still on the tree but his mind clearly somewhere else. He’s breathing – in and out, each breath slow and controlled – even though he's had no need to do so for the past one thousand years. She’s turning that thought over in her head, wondering at its importance, when his hand moves in a blur too fast to catch. One moment the tree stands before her, a beautiful reminder of Hope’s second Christmas, and the next it’s snapped in two. 

Glass ornaments fall, shattering against the floor. 

“Elijah,” Hayley breathes, reaching out for him without thinking her action through fully. Realizing, a few seconds too late, just how little he’d appreciate her attempt at physical comfort she lets her hand fall down to her side again, her fingertips ghosting against the fabric of his suit jacket. Watching his profile she has the perfect view of his jaw clenching and his eyes shuttering. 

“You should go,” he grinds out, sounding far more like his brother than himself. Perhaps realizing this he continues in a lighter tone; “I’m afraid we’re not quite up to… receiving visitors right now.” 

“I’m not a visitor,” she gently rebukes. “We’re family. Remember?” 

Without waiting for an answer she kneels down on the floor and begins to pick up the largest shards of glass. Shortly after he’s next to her, his hands blurring again as he joins her in cleaning up the mess. When the scent of blood hits the air she’s not sure for a moment if it’s hers or his. At first she stares down at her own hands in confusion, but then the hungry clench in her belly settles the question. 

“You’re bleeding,” she says, catching a quick glimpse of a gash across his palm before averting her eyes. That doesn’t stop her from wanting to reach out to him though, from wanting to run her fingers across his skin until she finds and removes each offending sliver of glass, from wanting to lick away the tendril of blood and suck greedily at the wound until it closes. 

Squeezing her eyes shut she reminds herself of Jackson. Of her husband’s kindness. Of his loyalty and patience. The reminders give her no comfort. Rather they trap her as effectively as a snare around her neck, suffocating her even though she has no more need for air than Elijah does. 

“You should go,” he says again, as if somehow he’s able to read her mind. “I’ll take care of the glass.” 

This time, she doesn’t argue with him. Far away there’s the sound of familiar Christmas jingles, of Hope’s steady heartbeat and Jackson humming in the kitchen. The house she leaves behind remains silent though, with not a single heart beating. Hayley wipes at her face once, her fingers coming away wet, then steels herself. Straightening her back she plasters on a fake smile and returns home to her daughter.


End file.
